Ava was exhausted. She’d been through the hour-long timepiece seven -- yes, seven -- times now. No matter what angle she took, no matter how she argued with the knight (or the priests, when she made it to the trial), she couldn’t convince them to convict the nanny. She couldn’t convince them that their creepy friend was innocent -- because, obviously, he wasn’t. Her grandfather had shown them that with good intentions, she assumed, but he’d unknowingly created this infuriating Unchangeable.

But this had to be possible. If her grandfather hadn’t interfered, the nanny would have been convicted. And she was! That’s what actually happened in real time, after all. So getting it back had to be possible. It had to be...didn't it?

“How can you be so sure?” she asked the priests yet again. “The man is your brother in the faith. What cause would he have to kill a child? He’s a man of the cloth, for--” She stopped. She’d almost said “for God’s sake,” but last time she’d sworn like that they’d promptly thrown her back in her cell.

The head priest seemed to sense her near-utterance. “We have an eyewitness,” he repeated.

“Who isn’t here!” Ava cried. At the exact same time, the slimy excuse for a defendant said the same thing in Italian. He nervously plucked at his eyebrows and gave her an appreciative look. It made her nauseous.

“How can I convince you?” she finally asked. She was beginning to feel desperate. What if she was stuck in here? What if it was impossible? Could that even happen? Could a timepiece be broken beyond repair? She’d just assumed that there would always be a way, but now an icy wedge of fear inside her scoffed at such naïveté.

“I am already convinced,” the priest replied firmly. He rose to leave, and signaled to the knight to take her away.

Abe couldn’t hide it if he’d tried, which he didn’t -- he was terrified. He was shaking so much the bulky French man growled at him to ‘get a grip.’ And since that same man was pressing the barrel of a pistol against his head, Abe did his best to acquiesce.

"Let him go, or you’ll be dead,” Cece warned. Even now, her voice sounded like a purr. Abe couldn’t help but marvel. Did nothing ruffle her?

“Put down your gun, or your friend here will be dead first,” the man replied. “Three...two…”

But he never got to one.

In the course of the next two and a half seconds, more happened then Abe could have actually observed, and so he was left rather confused by the end of it all. With three successive, painfully loud shots, the man with the gun fell to the ground. Abe’s ears rang--he couldn’t hear a thing--and his head hurt immensely. He gingerly touched his temple and his palm came back covered in blood.

Cece’s cry came like a distant, quiet echo, despite the fact that she was right next to him. “Come on!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him deeper into the woods. He turned back weakly, back the way from which they’d come, knowing they had to get back to the timepiece, but Cece wouldn’t have it. Abe didn’t understand what she wanted -- the man she’d shot was still on the ground, apparently with a shoulder wound. He squirmed in pain and his mouth twisted in a scream that Abe still couldn’t hear.

“Speak your name, jade.” His sword was again pointed down at her chest. Ava took a deep breath.

“My name is Ava,” she said. “I know who killed the lord, and it wasn’t the priest.” She was banking on her knowledge to surprise him enough that he would bring her to the trial. It worked.

“He is on trial now,” the knight said, his tone stiff. “Come.”

As she followed him and his horse under the archway, she felt the weight of the watch in her pocket. Would it work on the inside of the timepiece? If she twisted it now, would she go back to the beginning?

The knight dismounted and led her inside. An instinctive shadow of a feeling told her no--the watch wouldn’t work in here, any more than a parked car could get on a freeway. She didn’t understand how she knew certain things about this device, how she’d known instinctively to twist it just the right way the first time she held it -- even Charlie had been surprised, and he knew more about her family’s strange legacy than she did. It was like she could feel the weight of certain actions, like there was a gravity to the watch that moved her. She knew it in the strange and familiar way she knew an old friend--one she hadn't seen for quite some time.

Suddenly she realized they weren’t in the main hall; they were going down a set of grey stone stairs. The afternoon light faded with each step downwards, and the smell was cool and dank.

“Where are we--”

The knight twisted around, grabbed her arm, and threw her forward. With a loud clang, she realized she was in a cell. A dungeon cell.

“Your lies are useless here,” he said. “And your trial is next--after we execute the priest.”

"When Simon took you in, he did not expect his generosity would be rewarded so cruelly,” the man continued. Cece held her gun steadily towards him, and he at her, both impassive to the moans of the bleeding men on the ground.

"We have very different definitions of generosity,” she replied. “But I’m not discussing them with you today. You have ten seconds to leave--and take these idiots with you--or I will put you all out of your miserable little lives.” She couldn’t help but bristle. Generosity, indeed--she was in the middle of trying to escape his ‘generosity’ at the moment, and so far it was her most successful attempt since she was a child.

"The idiom is ‘out of your misery.’” He chuckled. “Does your English always falter when you’re nervous?”

Cece cocked her pistol, and felt the familiar rush of pleasure at that click against her palm. The man’s eyes widened. He adjusted his grip, widened his stance, and gave his nervousness away.

“Don’t tell me you’re frightened of a little French woman, monsieur?”

He swallowed. “They are the only women who warrant it.” She laughed, but he did not. “Put your gun down, Celine, or you’ll be worse than dead. Simon is waiting.”

Cece’s fingers suddenly felt like ice on the gun, and for just a hair of a second, she hesitated. The man noticed. But then--

“AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!” An animalistic cry came from the shadows and something hurled itself against the man. His pistol went off harmlessly and he tumbled to the ground, trying to escape the strange animal.

No, Cece realized with a sinking feeling. Not an animal. It was Abe. And before she could do a thing about it, Simon’s thug had overpowered him and held the gun happily against the fool’s temple.

Ava held her hands against his throat. She pressed her thumbs in harder. The knight yelled behind her, the other priests squealed, but she could barely hear them. She could only hear the rasp of the murderer in her hands, frantic for breath, and since there was any sound at all she squeezed even more. He twisted and struggled, but she had tripped him and now had her knee on his chest. His struggling started to slow--his skin was a blueish color--his eyes began to glaze over--

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the knight step forward and raise his sword. With a wave of nausea she realized that he was going to swing at her--not the dying thing in her hands--and even if these shadow people weren’t real, she knew their weapons were deadly.

As he dropped his sword she rolled away, darting to the side like a fly escaping a swat. The sword grazed the priest’s side, and Ava allowed herself a smile when he cried out in pain.

But then that wave of nausea returned, more powerful than before--a wrenching in her gut that had nothing to do with remorse--the knight raised his sword again, faster this time, swinging down with such force that even Ava couldn’t spring away in time.

But before he could make contact, she felt the nausea grow into a twisting motion that pulled her upwards. Suddenly she was outside again, blinking in the afternoon sun. The knight was still in front of her, but his sword was sheathed--for now. He glared down at her from his horse.